


i'm willing to stay, fade away and ride along

by teenagewaste



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Excessive talk of flowers, Fluff, I suck at tagging sorry, M/M, Mentions of Nightmares, Mentions of PTSD, Newt Lives, Nightmares, Safe Haven, This is pure fluff, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 13:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13905093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenagewaste/pseuds/teenagewaste
Summary: "Just like you protect Newt?""Yeah-yeah, just like I protect Newt. I swear."





	i'm willing to stay, fade away and ride along

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most sickeningly cute thing I've ever written. I feel like they're so ooc, so please let me know how you feel about the way I fit them into their characters!
> 
> title is lyrics from meadows by stone temple pilots

There was a clearing a few miles into the island that Newt liked to travel to on occasion. The walk took about two hours, but it was worth it to him; the clearing reminded him so much of the Glade, minus the walls, and all. Aside from the missing walls, the threat of death by griever, the box that came up from the ground every so often carrying supplies—and on rare days a human being—and the constant questioning of what was behind said walls, this clearing was covered in soft white flowers.

Sometimes he would travel the two-hour walk, no matter the ache in his leg, and sit on the grass, which felt so much softer under his bare feet than the grass in the Glade did. He would lie there, sometimes until right after the sun was settling below the horizon, just watching the sky move overhead, the clouds moving slowly in the sky, the breeze blowing softly around him. Even in the rain, he sometimes would still come out and let his body soak in the natural water, just to feel something, just to feel a bit more alive.

Although, Newt isn’t too sure how he could feel any more alive than coming back from almost-death.

Sometimes, Newt was alone in the clearing. But on most days, Thomas was with him. Thomas was with him everywhere he went; from the moment that he stuck a syringe in Newt’s neck and held his body as the Flare slowly fled away from his cells, to Newt insisting that he follow Thomas back to Wicked to find Teresa and get enough of the cure out of Thomas’ blood to cure Newt for good. (It hadn’t been an easy fight; it was the first time Thomas had ever raised his voice even in the slightest at Newt, but he was in a panic. Newt had just almost _died_ , and he really didn’t want him to almost die for a second time.)

But since the moment that they hopped onto the Berg from the top of the burning building that was once the head building of Wicked, watching as Teresa pushed Thomas up and then fell to her ultimate demise (and Newt would never admit that he felt quite a bit sorry for her; she had in fact just found a way to cure him and save his life, and had just pushed Tommy up and saved his life. But he didn’t feel all that sorry).

Since that day, since those moments, Thomas and Newt had been practically inseparable. Attached at the hip. Minho called them _boyfriends,_ for crying out loud. They weren’t boyfriends. They were both just two friends, completely and utterly terrified that the other would die at any moment and the other wouldn’t be able to survive if that happened 

They shared a cabin; on some nights—most nights—shared a bed, when Thomas’ nightmares acted up too much. They did work around the Safe Haven together, no one bothering to try and separate them. They ate together, went on scavenges around the island together when needed, for fucks sake, the two of them took slow walks around the perimeter of the camp to stretch out Newt’s bad leg, whispering lowly to each other as if everything they said to each other was some sort of secret. Which, it may as well have been, if the faint blush on Newt’s face, shy smile on Thomas’, and the small giggles coming out of both of their mouths were anything to go by.

 

* * *

 

The one job that they didn’t have together involved the kids they rescued; Newt was in charge of talking to the younger kids who seemed to be dealing with PTSD from their trial experiences, while Thomas was in charge of the older kids. Once a day, for about two hours, the pair would split off, with almost painful looks on their faces, to go do what they were assigned to do.

They were both damn good at what they had to do; Newt’s soft voice, honest eyes, and overly understanding kindness made him perfect to work with the children who were younger than the rest of the kids on the island. Given there were only a handful of these kids, Newt was the best person for the job, balancing keeping them in control and talking to them one on one or in a group almost too well.

Thomas was much better than he gave himself credit for. He liked to believe that he wasn’t some kind of hero, that he failed all of these people, but the kids that he talked to every day, the kids that looked up to him, saw him as their savior. They all came to him for any issues they had, any nightmares, any anxiety, flashbacks, panic attacks. And Thomas understood all of these things much too well, so he was able to talk any of them through it. He was able to give clear, direct, almost perfect advice to them without even realizing he was doing it.

The two of them did each of these jobs without each other and thrived at them, but the second their time was up, they immediately gravitated back to each other, spending the remainder of the day and night together.

 

* * *

 

One night after dinner, one of the younger kids came up and tugged on Thomas’ sleeve. She was one of Newt’s kids, so it surprised him that although Newt was sitting right next to him, she decided to come to him instead.

She couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve, and her curly brown hair and wide, doe eyes made Thomas think of Chuck almost immediately, and his heart melted at the spot.

“Hey, kiddo, what’s up?” He said, turning away from Newt to face the girl.

“Can I talk to you?” She whispered, still holding on to Thomas’ sleeve. In that moment, she looked so small, so much younger than she had to have been. “Alone, maybe?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Thomas replied quickly. “Give me one second, okay?” He spun to face Newt, holding out his bowl. “Can you hold this? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

Newt smiled at him softly, just a slight lift at the corners of his mouth and a soft look in his eyes. “Yeah, of course, Tommy,” He answered. “If I’m not here when you get back, I’m in the cabin.” Thomas nodded his response, and turned away from the boy, standing quickly and following the girl towards some of the large rocks by the shore.

She sat down on one of the rocks, while Thomas opted to stand. He wasn’t quite sure how to deal with kids younger than him; his age group was all kids around his age, so they were much easier to talk to and relate with. This girl had to be at least five or six years younger than him, and he had little to no experience with anyone under the age of sixteen.

“Nightmares,” She muttered, curling her knees up and resting her face in them, her eyes poking up at Thomas. “Every night. I see the same thing. But I can’t remember what it is when I wake up, I just know that it was terrifying. I wake up sobbing, shivering, sometimes yelling. But I have no idea why I’m so scared, Thomas. What do I do?”

Thomas sighed softly; this was always his least favorite part. “You’re stronger than you think, okay?” He said, walking over and sitting down on the rock next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her into a tight hug. “I get them too. Every night, I get the same nightmares over, and over again. I’m sorry you don’t know why you’re so afraid, but I promise that one day you won’t be afraid anymore. You don’t have anything to be afraid of anymore. We’re safe now. We’re safe here.”

She turned her face slightly so her cheek was resting on her knees in order to get a better look at Thomas, her eyes slightly wet. “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“And you won’t be. I’ll protect you, okay?”

“Like the way you protect Newt?” Thomas tensed a bit before he relaxed again, his arm going slack against her shoulders again before pulling her tighter against his body.

“Yeah-yeah, just like I protect Newt. I swear.” The girl held out her pinky to him and he stared at it, unsure what to do.

“You wrap your pinky around it, and you say you pinky swear. Then we kiss our pinkies at the same time and then you can never break it. Then you _have_ to protect me like you protect Newt. You just have to.” Thomas held out his hand, lifting his pinky—his tan hand so much larger than the small, fragile, pale girls hand—and wrapped it around hers, before she counted to three, and they both kissed their hands.

“I pinky swear.”

 

* * *

  

Thomas headed back to the cabin he and Newt shared after walking the girl back to where she slept when he saw that Newt was no longer sitting with the rest of their friends. Minho quickly waved him over.

“Your boyfriend took your food to your cabin a couple minutes ago, said he was tired or somethin’” Minho said with a mouth full of food. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Not my boyfriend!” Thomas called as he walked away from the group of people around the fire, hearing Minho’s loud laughter echo in the silence around him, and he could have sworn he heard him mutter something as well, but he didn’t pay much mind to it.

Thomas walked into the cabin, moving the curtain aside and coming to sit on his bed, staring at Newt’s sleeping form under his blanket on the bed across from his.

“Were you able to make Anya feel any better?” Newt asked suddenly, making Thomas jump.

“Jesu-Newt, don’t scare me like that, I thought you were sleeping,” Thomas muttered, picking up the bowl from the small table in the corner of the room and shoving a spoonful of food in his mouth. “I think so,” He said through bites. “She seemed okay. I still ‘got an idea, though.”

“You know you can talk when you’re done chewing your bloody food right, you shank,” Newt rolled his eyes, sitting up in his bed, his hair ruffled on the top of his head, pillow marks on the left side of his face. Thomas thought he looked adorable, and the thought made his cheeks turn red.

“Uh-“ Thomas stuttered before shoving another mouthful of food in between his lips, a small bit of it dripping down his lip and chin.

“Tommy, you’re the messiest eater I have ever seen. And I’ve seen Minho eat drunk,” Newt chuckled softly, lying back down, this time facing Thomas. “You need to sleep.”

“How do you feel about going to the clearing tomorrow?”

“The clearing?” Newt instantly perked up at that, looking like he was about to shoot out of bed and insist on going immediately. “Yes! Definitely—wait, why?”

“You’ll see.”

 

* * *

  

By the time the two of them made it to the clearing the next day, a large wicker basket in Thomas’ hands, Newt’s leg was so sore his limp was getting worse and worse; almost as bad as when they had to walk through the scorch. Thomas debated on just picking Newt up and carrying him the whole way there, but decided against it; Newt would probably protest until Thomas put him down, and it would probably be weird anyway, wouldn’t it?

The pair stopped when Thomas got to the white flowers, sitting down in the middle of them, trying not to sit on too many of them. As soon as Newt hit the ground, he stuck out his bad leg, rubbing at his thigh and knee. Thomas looked down at Newt’s hands before swatting them away and replacing them with his own hands; Newt’s face breaking into a deep pink and looking away from Thomas.

“Y-you don’t have to, y’know, do that,” Newt whispered.

“Yeah,” Thomas dismissed. “I want to, though.”

Newt let out a shaky breath, looking at the top of Thomas’ head where he had bent down a bit to concentrate better at rubbing Newt’s leg, trying to ease the pain as best as he could.

“So-uh, what are we doing here?” Newt asked once he found his voice again. “Not-not that I’m complaining! I’m just wondering, curious." 

“Well,” Thomas started, continuing to rub at Newts leg. “For some weird reason, I can remember how to tie these flowers together, the same way you can remember constellations. I figured that maybe making a bunch of flower-headbands or whatever might cheer some of the younger kids up, for a little bit anyway.”

Newt stared at Thomas in awe, wondering how such a wonderful person existed. Maybe Tommy wasn’t perfect, but God, did he care so much about everyone else in this world, so much so that he forgot to care about himself a majority of the time.

“Well, then,” Newt replied, ruffling Thomas’ hair. “Let’s get to it then, ‘ey?”

“Alright, well, this is how you do it,” Thomas plucked a few flowers from the ground before slowly showing Newt how to knot them together and make them into a sort of crown.

It took a few tries for Newt to get it right, but eventually he got the hang of it, and the two of them spent hours tying together delicate white flowers into delicate crowns to give to the kids.

“You think they’ll like them?” Thomas asked, staring up at the sky. The sun was just beginning to set; they had made at least a hundred and fifty of those flower crowns due to being out at the clearing since dawn, and the sky was just beginning to show signs of the twists and mixtures of colors that Thomas loved to watch.

Newt stared at Thomas’ profile for a few seconds before plucking up a handful of grass—careful not to get any of the flowers—and dropped the handful on Thomas’ head.

“Dense shank,” He snorted. “Of course they’ll like them. In case you haven’t already noticed, you arse, but those kids look up to you, all of them. They think you’re their savior. You could give them a pile of horse shit and they’d thank you for it.”

“…Did you just put a handful of grass in my hair?”

“Is that seriously all that you got out of that?”

“No, but I’m choosing to ignore the sentiment for right now to talk about the fact that there is grass in my hair.”

“ _Tommy,”_

“ _Newt,_ ”

The two of them stared at each other, seeming to get closer and closer, before Thomas picked up one of the already-made flower crowns and gently placed it on Newt’s head.

“King of the makeshift Glade,” He smiled softly at Newt, a look of pure, unadulterated adoration in his eyes. “Even if you dumped grass in my hair.” Thomas’ voice turned to a whisper.

“Tommy,” Newt asked, his mouth dry, a lump in his throat, voice much huskier than before. “Tommy I’m about to do something idiotic, so idiotic that it could either have a very, very good outcome or a very, very ba-“

And he was interrupted by Thomas’ lips on his. It was just a soft brush of their lips, hesitant at first, before Thomas was pulling back, as if he had just made the wrong move.

“I-I’m sorry, did I read that wrong? Was I totally wrong about that?”

“Tommy, shut up,” Newt grabbed Thomas by the back of the neck, dragging him in for another kiss, while Thomas’ hands flew to Newt’s waist. It was another soft, slow kiss. It wasn’t like either of them had any experience with this; each brush of their lips was gentle and searching, each boy mapping the others lips.

There was no tongue, no clanks of teeth, no pulling of hair, no biting of lips. Just soft, slightly parted lips brushing against each other’s again and again until both boys felt satisfied.

“So…I didn’t read that wrong?” Thomas asked shyly, a small blush on his cheek.

Newt took the crown off of his head, gently placing it on Thomas’. “King of being a giant dork.”

Thomas’ smile was bright enough to put every constellation Newt could think of to shame. “Let’s get going, yeah?” Thomas said, placing all of the flower crowns into the basket, so many that they were almost overflowing. He took one out and placed it on top of Newt’s head again as they stood up, placing a hesitant kiss on Newt’s cheek. “King of the makeshift Glade.

“King of being a giant dork.”

 

* * *

 

When the pair arrived back at the camp, hand in hand, matching flower crowns on their head with a basket full of them as well, Minho smirked and looked at Brenda.

“Told you so.”

 

* * *

 

Newt was in charge of handing the flower crowns out to the younger kids, and then the older kids, who also decided they wanted one as soon as Newt decided to mention that they were Thomas’ idea.

He placed one on Vince’s head as well, Brenda and Minho and Jorge and Frypan’s heads too. 

“So, not boyfriends, huh?” Minho smirked at him.

“Shut up, Minho,” Newt shot back, but couldn’t hide the blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks.

“He’s blushing! They made flower crowns and came back boyfriends, how romantic,” Brenda gushed sarcastically, placing one hand over her heart and the other over her forehead before breaking into a fit of laughter. “I’m kidding, I’m happy. You two idiots finally did something about it instead of just staring at each other and pining. It was getting old. I was about to lock you in your cabin and refuse to let Fry feed you until you admitted that you loved each other.” 

Newt’s blush turned an even deeper shade of red as he mumbled, “I do not love him.”

“Oh god, Brenda, we have another challenge,” Minho sighed out.

“Or, maybe we can let them figure that one out themselves,” She replied, adjusting the crown on her head. “I’m tired of meddling.”

“Bloody shanks,” Newt muttered, walking away from his friends and sitting down on a log in front of the fire. Most of everyone who wanted one of the crowns got one; Thomas was just trying to hunt down one more person tonight.

 

* * *

 

“Anya?” Thomas shook the curtain of the cabin to announce his presence. “Can I come in?”

“Thomas?” She replied. Her voice sounded shaky and wet, as if she had been crying. “Yeah, uh, come in.”

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting down on her bed. “You okay?”

“’Nother nightmare,” She mumbled. “Couldn’t remember, again.”

“I know it’s scary, but it’s going to be okay. Just keep going to see Newt, and come to me whenever you need. Wake me up in the middle of the night if you have to.” He sighed, wishing there was something to do to take away the girls pain. “I brought you something.” He said after a long pause.

The girls face instantly perked up. “A present?”

“It’s not too big, it’s just something me and Newt made earlier today,” He took the flower crown out from behind him, placing it gently on her light brown, unruly hair. “You’re a Queen now, and you know what that means, right?”

The girl shook her head before tilting it to the side in confusion, much like a lost puppy.

“Well, you see,” He started, pointing at the matching crown on his own head. “I am a King, and Newt, well, he has one too, and he’s a King. Which means that I’m going to protect our Queen like I’d protect our King, and he’s going to protect our Queen like he’d protect…our King…y’know, me.” He smiled softly at her, holding his pinky out. “I pinky swear, on behalf of both me and our other King.”

Anya’s grin lit up her whole face as she stuck out her small pinky, wrapping it around Thomas’, both of them kissing their own hands.

“Thanks, Thomas,” She whispered, feeling the soft petals that rested on her head. “You really are our savior.

“No, I’m not, Anya,” He replied, standing up from the bed, placing his hand on her shoulder and rubbing at her back lightly. “You’re your own savior. You save yourself every day.” He smiled softly at her before turning and walking towards the curtain. “Goodnight, my Queen.” 

“Goodnight, King number one,” Anya giggled. Thomas chuckled softly at her and made his way back towards the fire, finding Newt sitting exactly where he had last seen him, staring into the fire.

“Hello,” Thomas said, plopping down next to Newt and resting his head on Newt’s shoulder.

“I told Minho and Brenda and Frypan that we were boyfriends,” Newt whispered quickly.

“…Okay?”

“Is that okay?" 

“…Yes?” Thomas replied, slipping his fingers in between Newt’s. “I think if today is anything to go by, you should probably be my boyfriend. I’d really like to get better at the whole kissing thing.”

Newt snorted out a laugh, “You’re a bloody idiot, Tommy.”

“I’m your bloody idiot, Newt,”

“Don’t say bloody, it sounds weird coming out of your mouth,”

“Bloody, bloody, bloody, _bloody,”_ Thomas repeated, attempting—and failing—to mimic Newt’s accent.

“Oh, god,” Newt groaned. “If this is what being your boyfriend’s like I want an exchange.”

“Too bloody late,” Thomas grinned, kissing Newt’s cheek and standing up. “I’m going to bed. Your bed or mine?” Newt looked up at him and smiled.

“Definitely mine, I stole an extra sleeping bag when we got here so I have an extra layer. Mine’s much more comfortable.”

“Bastard," 

“I’ll race you?” Newt stood up, smirking.

“On the count of three?”

“Okay,” Newt took a deep breath in. “One, two,” And with a hard shove, he pushed Thomas to the ground and sprinted towards their cabin. 

“Just for that you’re sleeping on the edge of the bed!”

Thomas could hear Newt’s joyous laugh in the distance and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! :)  
> follow me on twitter @unholynewt


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